


Frenzy

by verry (cherrybone)



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Confined Spaces, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 07:05:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18310631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrybone/pseuds/verry
Summary: A rework of the "Vent" scene that we all wanted to see go a bit differently





	Frenzy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Artsertive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artsertive/gifts).



> Half set into the movie. Used a little canon dialogue and then tweaked to my pleasure.
> 
> happy prompt fill for my absolute fav person. had a funny feeling it was you <3   
> i hope uhm, you like it as much as I like you!!!!

 

There’s a lot of reasons why Peter asks Miles to stay behind. 

Most of them are selfless. He doesn’t think Miles is ready to do any sort of fighting yet. The kid is still young and soft and untrained. Peter doesn’t want him getting hurt, best case scenario.

Peter doesn’t think he wants Miles hurting anybody else either. There’s a gentleness to the kid. Something warm and empathetic that Peter would hate to have shattered.

Miles is good, in every way that matters. Peter isn’t ready to see that goodness broken down into one big grey area that comes with vigilante heroism quite yet. Miles will have more than enough time throughout the years to become well acquainted with it. Peter doesn’t want to see it happen any sooner than it should. Doesn’t want to be the catalyst for a chasm of ambiguous morality so vast and endless that even he has his own doubts some days. 

So when he asks Miles to stay put, to stand guard until he comes back, Peter pretends that it’s wholly for these reasons that he makes the decision. 

He tries not to think about the faint scent drifting off the kid in gentle waves. Like a fruit on the cusp of being ripe, still tart and new and so mouth-wateringly sharp that Peter thinks he’s going to go cross eyed with the effort it takes not to lock onto Miles and never look away. 

The scent of an omega just beginning to present. The scent of a pup’s first bloom. 

Peter doesn’t think Miles notices yet. His nose probably isn’t yet completely developed and he’s too young to be able to parse scents anyway. He’s got no frame of reference for what anything should smell like. No training. 

But. 

Miles has instinct. 

Enough of it to have sought Peter out and attached himself aggressively to his hip. Peter is positive the kid doesn’t know why he’s latched onto Peter so strongly and so immediately. Doesn’t understand that there’s a hook Peter’s sunk into him. Some large, primal thing in Peter that’s set its eyes on Miles and refuses to look away. 

Peter tries to control it. He’d known Miles was an omega the moment they met. There’s a soft, neediness to him that’s unmistakable. Peter had tried to fight it at first. Tried to wave away his instinctual desire to protect and care for him.

But it’d been a losing battle from the beginning. He’d caved in record time, really, and he’s been fighting an uphill battle not to push any boundaries since. He’s trying to let his interest play itself out in a mentoring direction. Let Miles feel safe and comfortable so Peter doesn’t have to start answering uncomfortable questions about why he feels so strongly about Miles in such a short span of time. 

So he shoves it down – deep – and acts like everything he’s doing is done in good faith.

The alpha in him settles into something akin to acceptance. Leaving Miles outside in enemy territory doesn’t make him comfortable per say, but it’s still better than having him inside, within shooting range, and figures it’s the lesser of two evils.

—

Peter’s just settled into the vents and waiting when he feels some sort of alarm go off in his head. It’s different from the spidey-sense. It goes beyond that – deeper, somehow.

The scent hits him first. 

Before anything, the smell surrounds him all at once, cloying and thick and far stronger than it had been out in the open air. 

It coats his tongue before he gets that little tingle that alerts him to another spider in his presence. Before he hears the quiet, swishy sound of Miles wiggling his way up to where Peter’s stationed in the vents. Before he can think up any sort of rational for why he’s smelling _Miles_ of all people.

It surrounds him so completely that Peter can smell the fact that Miles has worked himself into a nervous little frenzy of determined pheromones and has pushed past his anxiety and frustration and gone after Peter even when he’d ordered Miles to stay put. But then again, Peter hadn’t really ordered him, had he? Hadn’t put any of his control into it. He’d simply told, and Miles had just as simply chosen not to comply. 

Peter had mistakenly assumed that it would be adequate. That Miles looked up to him enough that he’d just listen. 

The thought of being disobeyed so easily makes something in Peter’s gut twist uncomfortably. Almost angrily. 

The scent in his nose grows thicker, and Peter’s nostrils flare in an effort to take in more of it. He’s not entirely conscious of it, just feels like maybe getting a clear lungful of the kid will help him figure out just what the fuck Miles had been thinking coming after him like this. 

Not listening. Pushing his buttons and asking to be taught a lesson. 

He’s lost in this possessive train of thought when Peter’s finally able to hear him, “Peter! Peter –”

There’s a bump against his backside, and then another, more excited, “Peter!”

“Yeah – what are you doing here?”

“Kingpin’s here! Just move over!” Miles whispers. There’s the shuffle of a body coming up behind Peter, and then, alarmingly, wiggling right up under him and coming to rest directly beneath his own. 

“Go back outside,” Peter hisses, angrily, trying to ignore the heat pressed flush against his front. Trying, rather desperately now, to ignore the way every little shift Miles makes seems to sink right into the bones of him, shooting tiny little sparks all the way through his spine and straight down exactly where he doesn’t want to be feeling anything at all. 

“No, I can’t sit there and just let Spider-Man die without doing anything about it. I’m not doing that again!”

Peter thinks, panicked, that having Miles here, under him, is the least helpful position he could have possibly put himself in. Out loud he says, “I don’t need your help.”

“Everyone needs help, sometimes,” Miles says, in a voice that sounds too mature for Peter to scoff at.

It’s true, in a sense. But right now, what Peter needs help with is _focusing_. Something that’s very hard to do when there’s a warm body underneath him. When Miles is so close that Peter can feel the back of the kid’s head nudging against his chin. Suit scratchy and ticklish in its cheap quality.

Peter wants to fight about this, wants to order Miles to go right back out the way he came and get somewhere safe, somewhere away from villains and Peter’s crumbling self-control.

But it’s hard to deny the comfort he feels having Miles in his line of vision. There’s a certain peace in knowing that if anything happens, Peter will be there to protect what is his.

Peter doesn’t try and argue with that thought anymore, suddenly tired and letting the knowledge sink into him and settle deep.

Miles is his.

His to protect, his to care for.

“... Peter?”

“Quiet,” Peter hisses, frustrated and quickly losing his grip on just what he’s frustrated about. 

“I feel kind of...” Miles trails off, growing somehow impossibly hotter underneath Peter. “Weird,” Miles finishes lamely, instead of falling silent. He’s shifting uneasily, like he can’t keep still. Peter understands the urge. Feels a whole lot like his entire body is starting to itch and he’ll never be able to scratch deep enough to get rid of it. It’s not a particularly good sign. There’s something in Miles’ scent that Peter can’t quite pinpoint yet. Something spicy and elusive that’s making his head spin. 

“Suck it up.” Peter practically growls at him. He doesn’t have time for this. He doesn’t have the patience for Miles to start acting up. Miles’ scent is already dripping with nerves, and focusing on whatever it is isn’t going to make this situation any better for either of them. 

“Peter,” Miles intones again, this time his voice is higher, threaded with something needy that makes Peter shiver. “I think I should go back.”

“No,” Peter says, words whispering out of him with such a level of steely command that it shocks even himself. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Peter doesn’t know what moves him, only that his hand is suddenly against the small of Miles’ back, pressing him into the cool metal of the vent before he can figure out what the fuck he’s doing. Where the hell had that command come from? What he should have said was, “Yes, please go while you still can!”

Instead Peter presses down harder and Miles makes a noise, too loud, and Peter’s other arm slithers up, palm coming to rest against Miles’ full lips and smother the noise before it starts grabbing the attention of the worker bees below them. 

“ _Shhh_ ,” Peter murmurs, acting on instinct. Miles quiets under his touch, still shaking, still scared and unsure, but listening now – finally. 

“You’re okay.” Peter whispers, absently moving the hand on Miles back lower, resting on the plush curve of his ass. Miles is warmer there, heat seeping right through the fabric of his stupid, jokeshop suit and leeching into Peter like a guiding beacon. 

Peter realizes, distantly, that what he’s been scenting hasn’t been an omega just coming into their status, nor has it been Miles’ tangle of nerves that the boy carries with him wherever he goes. Like an anxiety riddled charm that follows him everywhere. 

What he’s smelling is heat. Pre-heat, at best, but Peter’s own pheromones are mixing in almost too well. Encouraging a rapid nosedive into mindless territory that he’s fully aware is almost impossible to stop once it’s gotten started. 

The knowledge comes to him as if from somewhere far away, and he struggles to think about it logically, but that primal, all-encompassing part of himself is rearing its head full force. It’s the part of him that doesn’t allow for rationality and reason. It’s the part of him that wants to take and claim, and will throw everything he’s worked for right out the window for just the slightest chance at ownership.

He should have known. He should have guessed. He’s not stupid, he’s not a beginner at this. 

He’d been so fixated on Miles purity that maybe - maybe he hadn’t want to recognize any of this for what it was. Hadn’t Miles been complaining earlier, about feeling nauseas? Hadn’t he skipped breakfast? Hadn’t he been sweating a little more all day? Hadn’t he looked at Peter a bit too long, kicked up too little of a fuss when Peter had asked him to sit this one out? 

And hadn’t Peter known, on some level? Hadn’t he tried to keep Miles away from him? At the very least until this mission was done. Until they could both come down from their adrenaline highs and think calmly and rationally about what to do next.

Hindsight is twenty/twenty, but Peter’s having a hard time focusing on his hindsight right now. His mind is fixated on the omega beneath him, leaking just enough of his scent to make Peter feel like he’s going crazy. 

And now he’s got Miles under him, Peter’s own quickly hardening cock pressed flush against his backside, digging aggressively into divot of Miles’s closed legs. 

And oh, how Peter ­ _wants_.

Miles lets out a muffled attempt at speech that has Peter clamping down harder, cupping the words right back into him.

“ _Shhhh,_ ” Peter murmurs, rubbing absently at Miles’ suit, testing for gives in the fabrics, breaks, anything. But it’s a one-piece, and Peter knows what he has to do.

“You want them to find us?” He goes on, grabbing a fistful of the fabric and yanking. “You know what they’d do to a little omega in heat, Miles?”  

Miles’ suit is flimsy and thin, tears easily in Peter’s hands. He doesn’t even have to use his super-strength. Just a particularly sharp tug and the fabric comes away in tatters. Miles makes another muffled sound, just one syllable this time. Maybe it’s “wait” or “stop” or “please” but it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. 

The skin of Miles’ ass is soft and slightly sticky with a thin sheen of sweat. The smell of his slick would have knocked Peter on his ass if he’d been standing. Here, it just clouds his mind, forces out the rest of his thoughts and makes it so that Peter doesn’t have to think. Doesn’t have to do anything except what he knows needs to be done.

“You gotta be quiet, kiddo,” he says absently, fingers skating over Miles’ crack and then, with more deliberateness than Peter thought himself capable, he lets them dip _down_.

Miles is leaking steadily now, a trickle that has Peter’s fingers gliding seamlessly between his cheeks. Peter can’t remember the last time he had his hands on something quite this sweet. He feels almost drunk on the power of it all, knowing that Miles is here because of _him_.

He lets his index and middle finger press harder, and Miles opens up for him greedily, hole sucking in the digits like they belong there. Miles’ body is young and honest, Peter’s two fingers sliding in almost as if they belong there.

Almost.

But that’s just a taste – a little tease to see if he’s really flowering for Peter. And oh, how he is. Miles seems almost to gape around Peter’s fingers, seeking more, pulling him deeper, desperate for something bigger.

Peter feels the lust roil through him like a physical thing, digits slipping out of Miles as he fumbles clumsily to yank down his own sweats. He’s suddenly infuriated at his own suit, and Peter doesn’t think twice before tearing a gap in that too.

He doesn’t have time to be patient or care. All he knows is that if he doesn’t fuck Miles right this instant, he’s going to go out of his mind.

Peter scents the air again, arousal tinged with fear, but that last bit doesn’t matter His hips nudge forward, cock sliding easily between Miles’ soaking cheeks and finding his entrance, fluttering and pulsing and practically begging to be filled.

Peter couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried.

He sinks into Miles with the type of resistance only a virgin, unknotted omega could have. The slick that comes naturally is just enough to grant him entrance, but not nearly enough to make this painless. Peter’s past the point of caring whether or not this is going to be good for both of them. It’s good for _him_ , and that’s all he needs right now.

Inch by excruciating inch Peter forces himself deeper, biting his lip to control his own noises as Miles whimpers quietly into his palm. An attempt to quiet Miles quickly transforms into a curse as Peter goes, “ _Shhhhhhit_.”

Miles groans noisily, and Peter adjusts so that it’s the crook of his elbow mashed against Miles mouth instead. It’s a good angle, gives him just the right kind of leverage to keep the kid close and still control his own movements.

His hips slam forward, jerky at first in his attempt to find rhythm in the tight space. But he adjusts, he always does, and only a handful of strokes pass before Peter folds his body over the smaller one beneath him and starts driving into Miles in earnest.

Miles’ body is so wonderfully responsive, sending out a fresh flood of slick now that there’s an alpha cock buried all the way up to the hilt.

The vent bangs noisily around them, and Peter has to make a conscious effort not to rattle it too hard. He wasn’t entirely lying to Miles. If Kingpin and his cronies _did_ find them, it’d be bad news for both of them, but mostly for Miles.

Stuck in his own half-rut, Peter would be feral and unhinged enough to fight hard and maybe get himself out of there. But Miles, little Miles with his heat-weak legs and his dazed state of mind would be a goner.

The thought of them getting their filthy hands on Miles makes Peter snarl, a quiet, violent noise that has Miles whining where he’s trapped. He’s moving, small abortive motions that make it seem like he’s finally starting to find some rhythm in what they’re doing.

Nothing in Peter’s life could have ever felt so perfect. Miles is tight and _hot_ and Peter thinks that maybe he could die like this and not be too upset about it.

Miles scrabbles for purchase against the cool metal, and Peter just pulls him back, Miles’ spine curving as he’s bent backwards, hips tilted up as much as possible as Peter slams into him.

Peter’s dizzy with the rush, with the reaction of them, chemicals and pheromones bleeding together with enough potency to make Peter go cross eyed. Miles shifts and jerks, soft, pleading noises drowned in the crease of Peter’s inner elbow.  

Peter smells the tears then, realizes that Miles jerky little motions aren’t an attempt to move with him, but abortive little hiccups that signify his emotional breakdown. 

Peter wants to care about that more, he truly does, but his hips snap forward at an almost frenzied pace, the creak of the vent moving secondary to his primal urge to get more, deeper, breed Miles until he’s crying and begging and tied to him.

He imagines Miles is saying his name now, sound interspersed with the wet hiccups and distressed noises. It only encourages Peter, and he feels the heat build and climb in his stomach as Miles begins to clench around him erratically.

Distantly, he can hear people rummaging around beneath them, talking about time limits and serious threats to the world as they know it.

But.

None of that seems important when he’s finally about to claim what has always been his.

None of that matters when Miles is stretched so perfectly around him, crying into his arm and taking him so good. Like he was made for it.

And he _is_ made for it. Body designed just for Peter to fuck into. Miles had basically been presented to him on a platter.

Peter’s knot begins to swell at the very idea that Miles isn’t just any omega, he’s _Peter’s_ omega, and he feels a shudder rip down his spine as the first waves of his climax begin to wash over him. His balls tighten and draw up, and he feels Miles’ tense underneath him as the first powerful jets of cum start to fill him.

Peter’s knot only grows in size, and before it’s too late, he lets out a guttural groan and forces himself as deep as he can, sheathing his cock fully as his knot expands to fill every little space inside Miles and then some.

Miles’ positively wails into his arm, ass clenching as his body freezes up in pain and panic. Peter should have warned him, said something, told him to relax, but he’s lost in the ecstasy of his own moment, coming in intense, heavy pulses that seem to go on forever.

He can feel the liquid sloshing around in Miles, filling him up and breeding him. Peter’s knot finally makes it to full size just as the first dribble of cum tries to push its way out. But the seal is almost perfect, and once Peter feels his own flow begin to ebb, he’s pleased to discover that almost nothing has spilled.

His body is still pulsing and thrumming with pleasure and satisfaction, lazily pushing out a few last pumps of cum as deep into Miles as possible.

The kid is crying harder now, shaking and silent as Peter tests the give of his knot. It’s stuck firm, and Miles’ hole continues to flutter around the too-big intrusion. Peter’s knot isn’t small by any means, and he knows they’ll be stuck here for at least an hour, if not more.

But they’re safe up here in the vents. Safe and together and when his knot has finally gone down enough for Peter to peel them apart, Miles will have taken to his seed beautifully, and Peter will wiggle back and watch his own DNA ooze out of the kid.

For now, he murmurs empty little platitudes, letting the weight of him rest just off to the side so he’s not crushing the boy while they come down. He unglues his hand from Miles’ mouth, listening to the boy take in a big, shaky, breath before falling into quiet sniffles.

That’s just another thing Peter will deal with later.


End file.
